War Games
by Narcolepcy375
Summary: Ten years after Kyle's rule as 'The High Jew Elf' in their backyard LARPing world, he's mysteriously transported to a very real Zaron where the war's not just a game. Faced with a battle for the fate of the world, he must assume the duties of the Elven King- who's keeping a secret affair...with the Ranger...Stan Marshwalker.
1. CPR is for Homos

_This fic will contain spoilers for the game if you haven't played it._

 _It was posted first on Archiveofourown by CiceroProFacto (my account). I am reposting it, hoping for more readership and feedback._

 _The idea is based around an RP between black-puffball-hat and kyle-broski on Tumblr. They also have great fanart. Go check them out._

 _A tip for reading: ellipse marks a time shift in the same universe. Divider lines mark a flashback. The delta symbol marks a switch to the other universe._

 _All that said. Enjoy._

 _~Cicero_

* * *

"Fuck! Fuck fuckity fuckfuckfuck!" Kyle huffed, hugging his arms around his chest and shivering as he came up from the freezing water.

Cartman cackled at him and continued his work, dunking Kenny. It was tradition for the boys to hang out at Stark's Pond the first night of Spring Break. Stan had begun it in middle school when they started taking different classes. It had just sort of stuck through the years- even though they'd all gone their separate ways. Now that they were in college or working, it was a reunion of sorts.

"Hey, guys," Kyle shouted over the splashing, "Bet I can still hold my breath longest?"

"Nuh- uh, Jew," said Cartman, "My money's on Kenny- I heard he's never gotta come up for air," he said grinning lewdly.

Kenny flipped Cartman off, but accepted the challenge anyway and he and Kyle took a few shallow breaths then a deep gulp and disappeared under the water. Once all the bubbles had risen and popped, Kyle was submerged in cold, dark silence and pressure. Lungs filled like balloons, he had to work a little to stay under, and it was a waste of oxygen to move around, so he dove down to find something to anchor himself. The pond was deep enough that he sank a few feet before his hands reached the bottom, releasing more bubbles. It was colder down there, but as Kyle searched for a log or branch to hold onto, he found a strange warm patch and he swam towards it.

His lungs were screaming for air as he reached it, but he could ignore that, instead focusing on the pull of a strong tide out of nowhere and the sound of splashing- perhaps Kenny going up for air, but he wouldn't chance it. Pinching his eyes open he could see Stan swimming away, hauling Kenny in tow, and Cartman's fat silhouette scrambling out of the water. Confused, Kyle reached down and grabbed a branch in the warm patch to steady himself.

It came loose in his hand and suddenly something bright flashed through the water, shocking him like a power outlet, shaking energy in his bones. He let out a mouthful of air and his feet had lost the bottom of the pond.

Air- needed air.

Choking, he kicked and thrashed, trying to find which way was up, but the bubbles he'd released were just swirling around him and the pressure of the water felt like he'd dived a hundred feet rather than ten. He clutched to the stick as if it would help, but it still felt like hours he was stuck in the dark, pressed in on all sides to the size of a pinpoint, losing control of his limbs without air, but after a moment, the bubbles rose and he was lifting, feet-first in the direction he could've sworn was down.

He flipped and pulled toward it fast, bursting up for just a second into blinding daylight and a canopy of green before his muscles gave out in shock and he was sinking again, drowning, blacking out.

δ

And suddenly the sunlight was back. Green sunlight. Blue eyes. The kind of clear blue that Hallmark card photographers would cream themselves over.

...Stan? Stan...was very close to his face, Kyle registered.

Then wracked into coughs, shoving Stan back to heave water up from his throat, vision blinking in and out as he gasped for air. And it was salvation- holy fuck, Kyle would never take oxygen for granted again. The pressure on his chest eased off after a long moment and Kyle could feel himself moving- well...being moved, muscles too weak with shock to actually do anything about it. Noises were muffled by the water in his ears, but he could make out Stan's voice in the haze, speaking as he lifted him up onto something softer than stones and mud.

Since when could Stan lift him?

"...M' Lord..." he was saying, shaking Kyle's shoulders until the water leaked from his ears. "Please wake up..." and he patted Kyle's cheek gently, and sat him up, making it impossible for him to slip into unconsciousness.

But, the air was delicious anyway, filling out Kyle's chest then his head, bringing his vision back in speckling colors. And he squinted with knit brows. What the fuck was up with the...cape and armor? And M'lord? And how long was he out? It was daylight now- it had been night at Stark's pond...and the tail end of winter...and there hadn't been these tall trees. "What're y'wearing..." he slurred.

"...I should ask you the same," Stan said, voice sounding gritty like he'd just smoked a pack of cigarettes. And, abruptly, his hand was on Kyle's thigh, sliding up his hip over the boxers he'd gone swimming in. "I've never seen these undergarments before," he mused, smiling.

Kyle slapped the hand away. Why would Stan be leaning over him looking all concerned and...touching him? Last Kyle could remember, Stan hated his guts...

But Stan just laughed at Kyle's reaction, a little awkward and giddy. "Never mind, my Lord. Did you get to the Stick?" he said, and he studied Kyle's face for a short moment before deciding he had his answer. He then leaned over Kyle and began wrapping his half-naked body up in some red robes, guiding his arms into sleeves. And, Kyle's limbs stayed limp and pliant as he watched incredulously, too weak and confused to fight him off- or ask what the hell was happening. "Nevermind, I saw the flash and look at you, you obviously got to it." He smiled with something like pride, "Let's get you dressed and we can head back..." Stan was talking mostly to himself, but he drifted off as he pulled the robes up over Kyle's chest. He dragged his fingertips up Kyle's neck to trace the round curve of his ears. A strange look came over his face; a sad smile.

And was that a...scar...across Stan's face?

"Wh's happening?" Kyle said finally, pushing himself back up onto his elbows more slowly, arms now sleeved in soft red fabric. "Stan?"

"You're okay m'Lord," Stan said, nodding at him with this freaky intense look as he finished fastening the front of the robes. "You did it," and he cupped Kyle's jaw tenderly, and all Kyle could think was thefuckthefuckthefuck on an endless stream. "You used the stick..." Then, before Kyle could stop him, Stan kissed his head and protectively pulled his face into his chest in a way that conveyed that Stan had been so fucking scared. And, Kyle was starting to see straight and get his bearings, and he noticed...Stan was soaking wet.

He had jumped in and pulled him out of the water.

That was pretty cool of him- Kyle figured he should probably thank him for that. But seriously, what the fuck? What was up with head-kissing? Where was the town? The church and the elementary school and Skeeter's Bar? M'Lord? How had it become daylight all of a sudden? And why was Stan talking about a goddamn stick?! None of this made sense...

Well...actually...

"I'm imagining this..." Kyle concluded, dragging in a shaky breath, staring over Stan's shoulder where his face was pressed into it. The forest was too surreal, too magical, and Stan- too affectionate. "That's why everyone was running, there was a flash storm and I got struck by lightening and now I'm in a coma," he said quickly, "...Underwater...ah, fuck."

Stan pulled back, holding Kyle at arm's length to study him- and really, since when was he so tan and square-jawed and scruffy? Since when did he have that big ugly scar? "...My Lord-"

"Stop calling me that!" Kyle snapped, slapping Stan's arm off again. What kinda fucked-up hallucination was this? "Why do you keep calling me that?"

Stan raised both brows. "It is your birthright."

They hadn't played Dungeons and Dragons in years, much less LARPed their games with costumes...particularly well-crafted- real battered metal and embroidered silk-costumes... This had to be in his imagination. Or a joke. Kyle held back the urge to punch Stan in the leg where he was kneeling beside him. "This isn't funny, Stan. Where the fuck are we?"

Stan's brows drew together, but he didn't try to touch Kyle again- thank fuck, "Stark's Pond..." he said slowly. "We came to use the Stick," he explained. "We needed it back so you could erase magic from our world..." And there he was, touching Kyle's ears again.

Kyle slapped the hand away a third time. "Stop!" he snapped. "Like fuck this is Stark's Pond! Where are we? Where're Cartman and Kenny?"

The bewilderment on Stan's face deepened and he backed up on his knees. "...This is Stark's Pond, m'Lord..." he implored, "...why would they be here? He betrayed us and...she's been dead for years." Stan got that strange expression again and said, "Whatever happened with the Stick in that water...please just tell me you remember..."

"Remember wh-?"

"The war...unleashing the ghosts in the mountain, the humans summoning the necromancer, your kingdom burning..."

Kyle just stared long and hard, jaw set. Stan was serious. He was using every tool in his acting arsenal to be a complete dick. It wasn't funny. "Fuck you."

Stan jolted in shock. "M'Lord-"

And then Kyle did punch him.

"Hey!"

"Fuck you!" Kyle repeated, stumbling up to his feet, still a little dizzy but recovering fast. "I could've died! I thought I was fucking drowning, Stan! This isn't funny!"

Stan followed him up to stand. "I do not mean to jest, m'Lord!"

Kyle punched him again, fist making a solid impact and Stan cursed in surprise. When Kyle went to throw another, he grabbed Kyle's wrists tightly and twisted them behind his back, arms wrapped around Kyle's middle now to hold them, faces brought way too close for comfort. "M'Lord, please..." he pleaded. And, normally, Kyle would've been able to tug free easily, but Stan's grip was too tight. And, how had he gotten so strong in the six months they'd been away at college? When had his hands gotten so rough? And his arms so big?

Kyle went to knee Stan in the groin, but he quickly side-stepped, anticipating the kick and turning Kyle around, bending him forward and jabbing the backs of his knees so he fell back to the ground. He went down easy with a gasp for breath, head spinning.

How had Stan done that? So quick...

Stan kept holding him, grip gentle but firm, "Please, Kyle, slow down," he whispered, pleading. His tone was way too gentle and...caring. It made Kyle uncomfortable. "What happened with the Stick? Tell me?"

No way this was Stan.

"Let me go," Kyle grit out, tugging his hands.

But not-Stan didn't. He just knelt behind him. "Kyle," he muttered, breath brushing against the shell of Kyle's ear.

Kyle thrashed.

"Tell me what's happened, love..."

Kyle froze.

For a long moment, they sat there in silence on their knees in the tall forest grass, surrounded by the sounds of the trees rustling and bugs chirping, not-Stan pressing some crazy fucking engraved armor to Kyle's back- wearing chainmail and a ridiculous green cloak and Kyle put in some embroidered red robe. Kyle's heart was pumping erratically, adrenaline spiking in his confusion. They waited for his mind to reboot and give him something intelligent to say, but it wasn't every day he got called 'love' by some doppleganger of his ex-best friend. His ex-best friend who hated his guts.

Kyle gave up. "Let me go," he repeated.

Not-Stan still didn't. "Please, my Lord," he said again, back to formalities. "Forgive me for using force, but...you are so changed." His voice was tight now, openly frightened. "When I saw you rise from the waves gasping for air, I knew something was wrong," the doppleganger said, "Now, you cannot seem to trust me and you respond with confusion and anger when I speak of your kingdom..." He turned Kyle around, locking both his wrists behind his back. "And your ears...if you have turnt mortal, do I not deserve to know?" he said, genuinely asking, unsure of himself. His blue eyes were hurt, heartbroken and scared.

It was a strange look on him and Kyle felt his anger receding against his better judgment. He resisted the urge to pull back so their faces wouldn't be so close. Not-Stan didn't seem to notice how he kept breaking the personal-space bubble. If anything, it just proved this wasn't reality. Stan wouldn't be getting so close to him. Not even for some fucked up joke. "If this is a prank, I swear to God..." Kyle muttered.

"It's no prank."

And, Kyle believed him. Fuck. He believed him because this was Stan. At least in some form. And, maybe Stan had become a bit of a dick- no an absolute bag of dicks- last year, but it was more likely that this was all in Kyle's head than that Stan was lying. Stan was still an honest bag of dicks- even in Kyle's imagination.

"Then, I have no idea what's going on," Kyle admitted. "I was in the water, there was a flash of light, now I'm here and I've got no fucking clue what's happening." It was probably something stupid.

"Perhaps if I show you, you will remember?"

Yes- that would help. A tour.

Kyle nodded and not-Stan loosened his grip on his hands trustingly, pulling him back up to his feet. He then kneeled and took Kyle's feet in hand to put a pair of boots on him, and Kyle allowed it, still pissed, but it would be smarter to roll with it until he could figure out what the hell was going on. If Stan wanted to play manservant in some fucked up coma dream, fine. Dream-Stan tied up his boots for him and led him to a tall horse that was tied to a tree a little ways into the forest.

And, Kyle had limited experience with riding horses...never this fast, and never in his goddamn underwear. He'd figured that once he'd realized he was in a dream, he'd be able to control what was happening, but this was...not fun. Between the pain in the crotch of riding a horse in his boxers and hugging his chest up against Stan Marsh's armored back, he was pretty sure he'd lost control of this fantasy.

As they rode, dream-Stan babbled about the mountain of 'howlers' that had stormed free and raided the seven human kingdoms, about how the elves had attempted to control them and lock them back in the mountain, but there just wasn't enough magic left at their disposal and they'd failed. He talked about the humans' desperate alliance with a Necromancer, having him reign in the howling ghosts to save the kingdoms of man, and how the Necromancer's risen dead had, in turn, destroyed the kingdom of the elves. Dream-Stan spoke of how he and Kyle had ridden out to retrieve the Stick to erase all magic from the realm- good and evil- a final measure to end the necromancer's spell...it was a sacrifice that had to be made to destroy all the undead beasts in one fell swoop. Dream-Stan explained this to Kyle like he should've known- like he had forgotten.

"Whoa!" not-Stan said abruptly, pulling on the reigns and Kyle quickly realized why.

In the distance, deeper in the forest, a full-blown battle was going down. Heavily-armored warriors, long blond hair flowing behind them as they flipped through the trees and shot arrows, were fighting two giant giant wolves. But...the wolves were missing huge chunks of flesh, rotting away as they attacked. The pointy-eared warriors seemed to have the situation under control, shooting their arrows with ropes attached, tangling up the beasts into submission.

But, "No..." dream-Stan said breathlessly. "...I thought..."

Kyle watched the ordeal in growing horror as full understanding washed over him. He'd sort of known- somewhere in the periphery of his memory, but it was too obvious now to deny. The golden designs on his red robes, the archers... The marking's on dream-Stan's helmet...they were a little different from what Kyle remembered, but similar enough to recognize. "...Marshwalker?" he tried, voice quiet and hands clenching over Stan's chest.

The Stick of Truth game? Seriously?! This was what he hallucinated of in his death-coma?

But, the Ranger was shaking his head, too caught up in his own epiphanies to notice Kyle's growing panic. "No...no, I thought you'd..." Marshwalker turned at the waist to glance at Kyle. "You said you were taking all magic from Zaron, not just your own! Why are we still fighting undead Dire wolves?"

"I didn't take away my _magic_ , I never had any," Kyle said, voice cracking in frustration, "I didn't touch the Stick of Truth!"

The Ranger seemed to believe him, but it just deepened his confusion, blue eyes darting between rounded ears- human ears. "If you didn't touch it, how are you-" human?

Kyle shook his head, eyes locking on Stan's. "Because I'm not your King!"


	2. You Can't Always Get What You Want

The King anticipated needing time. Stark's Pond was deep and the Stick would not come released easily. Without the Grand Wizard's assistance, he could not reclaim it from the depths himself, so if he couldn't remove the Stick from the lake, the Elven King planned to perform the spell _in_ the lake.

It was only one change needing made.

To dispel magic from the realm. Forever. For all.

He brought his Ranger in a tactical move. Not many things could kill an immortal elf- no illness or age could prove fatal and wounds were easily healed. But, the King did not intend to remain immortal. If he was successful, he-

He would be needing breath.

So, it came as no surprise when he returned to consciousness with a warm familiar mouth pressed to his, forcing air into his chest. He shoved the Ranger back, sat up, and coughed, wracking until his lungs no longer rattled with swamp water. Once his breath was even, he clapped a hand to the Ranger's jaw, pulling his head in to tap their foreheads together affectionately, "Thank you," he said simply and sat back, giving him space. It took a moment to adjust to the low lighting of nightfall and he shivered with cold...how long had he been under that the sky had darkened?

And then came the surprise.

The Grand Wizard- practically naked, hovering behind Stanley's shoulder with an oddly familiar blond boy beside him. He was trembling on a cracking grin- laughing. Laughing at a King!

The Elf swung gracefully to his feet, in his breeches and all, soaking wet, but wielding the Stick. Kyle thrusted the Stick of Truth in his fist at the Wizard, resigned to banish him from space and time for his crimes against the elven race- against all magic creatures of the earth...

And yet...nothing.

So, he did it again, shouting with effort to channel his energy through the relic- and still nothing. He looked down at the Stick, back up at the men standing around him...no...this was wrong...

 _Wait..._

How had he pulled The Stick free of the lake? Where were the gems? The gold of the scepter? _This was a twig!_

"...What are you doing?" Stan broke the silence.

And the Wizard allowed a beat before he broke into loud laughter, his stomach jiggling as he doubled-over. "Ahahaa, oh man guys, Kahl's lost it!"

The King's lips curled in disgust and he turned to his Ranger, intending to take the sword from his waist- the sword that was always at Stanley's waist. He could use it to carve up the Wizard here and now and- his hand just met flimsy fabric-

"Dude!"

And a slap on the wrist.

He backed up, incredulous. His Ranger had just hit him! Before the Grand Wizard! How dare he? It was not the Ranger's place to touch the King in front of others- especially not with impunity.

"Explain yourself," the King demanded- because this was Stan. There must be a reason for the strange behavior. "Where is your sword, Stanley?!" _and your armor, and the horse...and the forest._ He grabbed the Ranger's...strange short breeches and pulled him in close to speak quietly against his ear. "He is unarmed- now is our best...chance..." His voice drifted off. From this distance, the Ranger's face was...wrong. His eyes were cold and there was no recognition of this closeness. His cheeks were smooth and clean and he smelled...sweet...like a woman. There was no mistaking that this was Stanley Marshwalker, but somehow he was not. "...wha-?"

"What the are you doing," Stan cut the King off, shoving him with a rough hand to the chest. "Elf ears? Don't you think you're kinda old to be playing shitty games like this?" he raised both brows.

The King dropped his hold on Stanley's shorts, stumbling back. He locked eyes with the Wizard King distrustfully. The slightest twitch of a finger and he could be moving to cup a spell. But, Stan had his back turned to him? Too many things were wrong. What had happened while Kyle was in the swamp? The King drew himself up to full height and faced the Wizard, "You've made no attempt on my life...?" he accused.

The Wizard's brows just pinched a little- like he was caught off-guard. "Not this week," he said honestly, then slowly, "...we cool, bro..."

And it was enough to jar the King thoroughly.

The Stick of Truth was a twig, his Ranger was scrawny, and the Grand Wizard was...some bulbous brat. This was _not_ Zaron. Not as he knew it. "This is..." _not my world._ "There's...no magic in this world, is there?" he said slowly. "The Stick worked..."

The air went silent and heavy, then the Wizard resumed his raucous cackling. The familiar blond boy standing with him elbowed him in the gut, eyes drawn on a worried expression as he looked back and forth between the Elf and his Ranger. But, Stan just stared, blank-faced. "The Stick...the Stick of Truth," he said emotionlessly.

"You know of it!" the King said, resisting the urge to grab Stan by the shoulders, "Then it does have power here?"

Stan's eyes pinched at the sides- almost a glare but more drained. The corners of his mouth set tight and he stared in a long silence, "Fuck you."

"...What!"

Stan shoved the King- and there was the anger. Just- it was...entirely unfounded. Kyle stared wide-eyed, posture put open in shock for Stan to shove him again until he fell back, "I thought you were dead you _sick fuck!"_

"...Stanley...how dare you?"

"How dare I?" Stan said, bewildered. "I dare like _this!_ " He shoved the King again. "I dragged your ass outta the water, you were passed out, Kyle- you weren't _breathing_...You fucking dick."

"Stanley Marshwalker! You will not speak to your King like this!"

"It's not funny!" the Ranger growled, grabbing Kyle by the ears and pulling, "Take it off!"

Kyle yelped and grabbed Marshwalker's hands, trying to pry them off- because it fucking hurt. "Gods! Stop! Stop it!" he snapped, kneeing the Ranger in the gut to make him release. There was no joy in the grunt of pain it received, but it did force Stan to let go. The King covered his abused ears and stepped back, betrayed. He took a shaky breath, folding his arms over his shivering chest.

No- these were not the men that the Elven King had fought beside and against. This King Cartman was human- he was sure of it, and his blond friend...he was...not sure. But, Stanley- Stan was insolent and unbalanced. He certainly was _not_ a Ranger of the King's watch.

 _Not_ -Stan ignored his glare, wearing his own look of horror, "They're real..." he reported at _human_ -Eric and the blond boy. "They're fucking real." His eyes hooded, and he balled his fists, turning his back and storming to a nearby tree where dry clothes were hanging in semi-neat piles. The King watched as he angrily pulled on a plain tunic and trousers then slid a short overcoat around his shoulders. He struggled with his shoes for a moment, trying not to get mud in them but also not caring enough to thoroughly clean his feet before shoving them into the shoes and stomping back to the King. "So, you're the High Jew Elf of Zaron then?" he said, spitting the title like an accusation, "You're the King of the Drow Elves of Larnion, ruler of the misty forests?"

The King watched the _not_ -Ranger's...rampage incredulously. "Yes," he breathed, so confused.

 _Not_ -Stan nodded, "Right. Yep," and, he turned to the other two boys and gave them a tight nod, "I'm going home."

He started to leave, but the human-Cartman was suddenly a flurry of motion. "Stan, ey!" he snapped, grabbing his arm. "You're tellin' me this guy's the real deal?" he said, lowering his voice (badly) and jabbing a thumb at the King. "A living, breathing, Elf King- not Kahl- Kyle?"

"The ears are real," Stanley said. "And, he's not acting."

The _not_ -Cartman took it on _not_ -Stan's authority, but Stan was already pulling away again. "Ey, what about the Jew?" the _not_ -Wizard said. Stan slowed just to glare. "If you'd frost your sissy bitchfit, maybe you'd notice that Kahl just poofed off to Neverland in a fucking lake-portal. Aren't you gonna do something about that?"

"What can I do?" Stan said coldly. "There was nothing in the water when I went down for him. He's not down there. I don't know where he is." And, it didn't sound like he cared.

Human Cartman huffed, and he gave up on Stan and his apathy, letting him walk away again. For a moment, Kyle was left alone with this other world's version of his most hated rival and...a familiar-faced blond boy. Cartman was about to say something, he was opening his mouth-

But, before he could assault his ears with his filth, the Elf King jolted away, starting after the _not_ -Ranger, "Wait!" he cried. Stan didn't, so King Kyle jogged into step beside him...in his breeches and shirtless in the cold, following him into a human town. "You're Stanley Marshwalker-" _or someone similar,_ "...you...you're my Ranger."

"I'm Stan Marsh," he clipped, "And I'm your nothing."

"But, you know me," the King tried. "You know my titles."

"Yeah. I was there when we made them up," Stan deadpanned, walking faster.

"...Al...right... So, my titles are made up in this world...?" the King waited for this Stan to respond, and when he was silent, he went on, babbling to fill the silence- to excuse his presence here- like if he went silent he had no right to exist in this place, "...So, I assume I'm not a King in this world?" ...No answer. "That makes sense if I've dispelled magic, I suppose. There's always a price for heavy magic such as using the Stick. ...And...you were surprised by my ears...I assume here they are human-?"

"Your titles are made up because _you're_ made up," Stan snapped. "And your ears aren't anything because you don't fucking exist!" He stopped under a torch in the road and turned on the King, illuminated and angry. "This is South Park. This isn't Zaron. Cartman and Kenny and me- we're just normal dudes on a typical spring break from school and we were hanging out and visiting and Kyle was there. And he fucking touched something stupid and got himself zapped from our plane of existence. And, now _you're_ here bugging me instead. Am I getting this right?"

The King shook his head that he didn't know. "I only sought the Stick to erase magic from the realm..." he explained.

For a moment they just stared at each other- then Stan laughed bitterly in exasperation- realizing...something. Some unseen truth that the King couldn't place. "Well, you got your damn world without magic," he said. "Welcome to Earth." He opened his arms in mock-greeting, giving a sham of a low bow, _"My Lord."_

He turned to walk away again and Kyle got that helpless feeling back, "Wait...I-where are you going?"

"Home."

"May I come with you?"

"No."

"...I have nowhere to go," the King's voice shook shamefully. If this were anyone but Stan, he'd be more diligent with his pride, and while this was not his Stan, it was not above the King to feel embarrassed, asking for help. "I don't even know where I am...South Park...?"

The _not_ -Ranger turned to face him but kept his momentum, walking backwards on his heel, "Not my problem."

"But, I know nothing of this world-"

"-Ask somebody," he said, still retreating.

"I am asking y-"

"No."

"But, I know no one else to-"

"Then figure it out yourself."

"Where shall I even begin?-"

"Ask somebody else."

"But, I know _you_ \- and you know me," the King said, following Stan and getting ashamedly desperate. This world he had created was not familiar, but Stan was in it- and Kyle needed him. Even in this form. "And, I believe you'll help me. Because, if there's any trace of the Stanley I know and love within you, you love m-"

Stanley turned on his heel, "Fuck off!" he shouted, fists clenched.

"Do not leave me," the King pleaded, but this world's Stan had already turned his back and the King just couldn't bring himself to beg any further...not under this context. Not for this.

No, there were no imminent threats here. The Grand Wizard was a plain human. The Lost Forest- if it could be called that- was tame. The people of this world obviously spoke the King's language. Even the town itself was simple and inviting. The cobblestone of the road was long and continuous and impressively smooth- easily navigable from a moment's glance. The buildings were designed in the human style and constructed of flat materials and painted neatly. Their purposes were easily distinguished- for the most part, and the windows were all impossibly transparent and dark. This town- wherever it was- was quiet and welcoming. Kyle was sure that, at the very least, he could find an Inn for the night.

But, he should probably be wearing clothes.

He turned back to the pond to retrieve the strange tunics and trousers the young men had hung in the trees. His bare feet padded through the snowy dirt pathway back to Stark's Pond...or this world's equivalent. The human Wizard King had vacated the scene, but his blond companion remained, watching him. He was...so oddly familiar, it really did frustrate the King. It didn't help that the man's face was now covered now in an orange hood, brighter than the southern fruits of the Isles that Ike often brought to Larnion from his travels. If the man had acquired fabric of such a color to imitate the vibrant red hues of royalty, it must have cost a thick coin. So, the King assumed he was wealthy as he approached, and he gave a bow to the familiar stranger.

"Mmm hm hmmhmhm?"

Taken aback, "Pardon?" the King said.

The blond pulled his hood down. "What the fuck are you?"

"I..." the King's eyes couldn't quite hold the intense look this stranger was giving him, so he looked away, "...an Elf."

The blond nodded, not a glimpse of doubt on his face. "Don't tell people that," he responded, and he suddenly threw something at the King's chest. The elf caught it deftly, looking down at a green bundle of fabric, soft and worn. "Put that on," the blond said. "You're human. Kyle Broflovski."

"Ah...alright," the King agreed. "But, may I ask your name?"

The blond smirked, considering his answer for a moment "You can call me Princess."

Kyle raised both brows in recognition and surprise- this was certainly a...new look. "Princess Kenny."

The blonde just quirked a brow salaciously and that was confirmation enough. The King smiled. The Princess had been a good friend up until the moment she was...not. And, he could not fault her for falling to the Stick's manipulation- such was the nature of the relic- way the Grand Wizard had intended it. It was good to have a friend in a familiar face.

Kenny unhooked the remaining clothes from the hanging tree and handed them off to the King as he dressed. "Those titles Stan threw at you match up pretty damn well to some some stories we made up as kids," she explained. "So, we're rolling with the theory that you popped out of our old LARPing game. Cartman's gone home to get his notes since we're all a bit rusty on the lore, but don't worry, fatass'll plot on some ballsy plan and it'll work out." Somehow, those words from this strange world's Princess had the King nodding obediently as he pulled his tunic over his head. "But, until we have this shit sorted, you've gotta blend. That means-" the blonde grabbed the hat from the King's hands and shoved it over his curls, "-covering these ears...and avoiding people."

The King allowed Kenny to fix the hat on his head, watching her, awed. "You truly believe I'm the Elven King of your legends?"

"This is South Park. Shit happens." The blonde shrugged casually and handed Kyle a pair of short leather boots, "You can stay in my guest house with the other renters..."

Renters? So, that's how this princess made her fortune? She was an inn-keeper? But, "I thought you said I should avoid people-"

"Ehhh, normal people," she corrected, "These guys don't really count."


End file.
